The Bonding
by Tsume12
Summary: An away mission gone wrong results in an... unusual situation for Captain and First Officer. K/S
1. Chapter 1

_All right, I obviously don't own Star Trek in any way, shape, or form. OK, that's a lie. I have the 2009 movie on DVD and a good bit of TOS on video. Yes, video. We've had them for what seems like forever._

_I _do_ own the idea, though. I wanted to see if it was possible to write a slow-going K/S (warning, SLASH!) fic that started out like this. You know, instead of a 'jump in headfirst' type. I also wanted to mess with the characters without actively trying to kill them, yet._

_For the record, this is my first attempt at fanfiction that I actually like well enough to attempt to post ANYWHERE. If you choose to review, please be honest but non-insulting. (Don't rag on the choice of type of fic to write, as you don't have to read it if you don't want to.)_

Chapter 1

The heat was nearly on par with Vulcan standards, but the air was heavy with moisture that left clothes clinging stickily to skin. Trees of varying types, all with thick, heavy leaves, shaded the thin animal path the away team had chosen to follow.

The Captain had elected to take the lead and Spock had positioned himself a pace behind him… just in case. James T. Kirk had the unnerving tendency to find trouble where no trouble should be found.

Movement overhead—a leathery-winged creature with a shape similar to Terran crows, but far larger—launching itself from the stem of a hanging leaf.

A shower of a pollen-like substance rained down, settling on the Captain.

A breath and the Captain was collapsing to his knees, Spock instinctively reaching forward to catch him, believing it to be an allergic reaction, and reddish dust hit his skin.

Before he had a chance to abort his movement as he felt every one of his mental shields drop and his telepathic senses go completely wild, he made contact, catching the Captain's shoulder, his finger just barely brushing against the skin of Jim's neck.

_Pain/fear/shock_ lanced through Spock's mind and he couldn't stop the swirling thoughts and feelings suddenly flooded him—warmth and sunlight; shining, bright, fractured. _Jim._

He did not initiate it, was not touching psi-points, but suddenly they were locked in something like a mind-meld and he saw himself as Jim saw him in that moment. Night to Jim's day; cool, calm, soothing.

And it was going too fast, too deep, and Spock was not in control any more than Jim was as minds meshed and melded, broke apart and blended back. Dimly, Spock was aware that this was dangerous, _wrong_. That he could not force this upon his Captain as thread by thread, a bond began to weave between them.

But there was no control, nothing even resembling it, and suddenly he was seeing flashes of a life that was not his own as he sensed the other watching his own life in turn.

Then there was a brief moment of nothingness—_transporter,_ his mind identified distantly—and the physical touch was broken.

There was a moment's disorientation as the still-forming bond flared, dragging minds together in a way that no Vulcan could accomplish, and all awareness of his own body vanished in sunlight and wonder and fear and _Jim._

_xxxx_

Spock woke to the sterile scent and bright lights of the ship's medical bay, but that barely registered past the realization that he was bonded more strongly than should have been possible—strongly enough to feel the warmth of Jim's mind even past the haze of unconsciousness.

He was broken out of his musings by Dr. McCoy entering the curtained-off area that was usually reserved for the Captain alone. It had been expanded to include another biobed, and Spock took a moment to map out the new layout in his mind, ignoring the doctor checking readings against a PADD in his hand.

Then his attention was redirected to a flicker in the back of his mind, the haze coating Jim's awareness beginning to lighten. He turned his head to look at the Captain's biobed, sensing pain.

"Captain," he offered quietly as he sensed the man's return to awareness a moment before quiet monitoring beeps changed pace.

There was a long pause before Jim answered, but the reply was not aloud. _Spock… is there a particular reason that I can feel you in my head?_

"Jim?" McCoy's voice interrupted before Spock could formulate a reply through the shock that he had been able to hear the directed thought.

That… should not have been possible. Not without contact with at least one psi-point, not for a half-Vulcan with a human, bonded or not.

But it was quite clear that it _was_ possible, as it had just happened, and Spock's shock and confusion fluttered through the link.

"Damn it, Jim," McCoy reached out to touch a shoulder, fingers brushing against bare skin where the neck of the shirt was slightly askew.

The reaction was instantaneous and intense—Kirk recoiled from the touch, a shocked gasp ripping from his throat as he jerked sideways hard enough to tumble from the biobed in a tangle of flailing limbs, the sudden movement aggravating the already powerful migraine into something that blinded and confused.

Spock didn't even register moving before he was there, steadying his accidental bondmate, reaching for psi-points to bring minds closer still, to guide the other in a purely Vulcan technique to ease the pain.

And it_ worked._

When Spock realized what he'd done, his confusion and shock only mounted and Jim blinked open those too-blue eyes, the mirrored confusion tempered with concern. "Spock?"

A breath and Spock had himself back under control, though confusion still thrummed between them as hundreds of ideas were tasted and discarded, theories half-formed and abandoned for lack of information.

"I do not know, Captain."

And the seconds that it had taken for the entire exchange since the impromptu abandoning of the biobed were all that McCoy needed to get over his shock at his best friend recoiling from him so strongly.

He was next to them, running a tricorder over each of them in turn, eyes dark with worry.

And something occurred to Spock as he returned his attention to his Captain. _Why did you react so strongly to Dr. McCoy's touch?_

A pause, slight confusion, and it came in a rush of projected memory.

Had Spock been the type to curse, he would have done so. However, cursing served no logical function, so he settled for sitting back slightly, then standing and gesturing to Jim's abandoned biobed.

"Doctor, I believe we have information that you will require."

_xxxx_

"So you're telling me that Jim's now a touch-telepath with no training or control and you two are telepathically bonded." It was not a question.

Spock considered, then inclined his head slightly.

McCoy sighed, deflating visibly. "It explains some of the readings I've been getting," he admitted reluctantly. "… but not all of them."

Jim had remained silent throughout the entire explanation and Spock was admittedly concerned at the numbness emanating from Jim's end of the bond between them. Suddenly having telepathic abilities thrust upon him with no forewarning and nothing even _resembling_ training…

From what Jim had shown him, McCoy's frustration, rage, and concern had hit new senses like a razor-edged sledgehammer. It was highly possible he was falling into some kind of shock.

McCoy made the same observation at nearly the same time, reaching for his tricorder to run a quick scan while Spock set about pressing into that numbness, searching for some kind of response.

_Captain?_

A flicker of annoyance—much better than numbness—and a sensation like a wince.

_Jim,_ was the response. _Please._

_Jim,_ Spock acquiesced, _are you all right?_

Hesitation, confusion, _reaching_…

Spock moved without conscious decision, gently laying a steadying hand on the back of his Captain's neck, the contact bringing the connection swelling to near the level of a full meld.

And there—new senses raw and pained, though Spock's mental touch soothed. _ I will teach you to shield your mind,_ Spock assured.

Jim nodded silently, weariness setting in as numbness faded into pain.

McCoy set aside his tricorder, frowning. "I need to run some more tests," he informed them both, leveling a concerned glance towards Jim. "There's something going on in there, but…" he sighed, a flicker of frustration reaching Spock's senses even from the distance.

"The Captain should rest," Spock observed.

Indignation touched his mind and Spock returned an unrepentant, if gentle, mental nudge.

McCoy didn't disagree, but there was an air of confusion as he raised an eyebrow in Spock's direction.

"His new senses were… _strained_ by the unexpected influx of thought and emotion when you touched him," Spock was reluctant to explain more fully, as it would cause McCoy to feel guilty and that, in turn, would upset Jim.

But McCoy only nodded and reached for a hypo, which Jim submitted to with less than his usual bad grace, slipping almost gratefully into a drug-induced slumber.

Spock let out a breath, and kept McCoy from leaving. "Doctor…"

He waited until the man's attention was completely on him, "Until I can teach the Captain how to shield himself from the brunt of the influx of thought and emotion transferred through touch, it would be best if you ensured that your touch only contacted clothing. His abilities are far stronger than those found in the average Vulcan."

McCoy swore softly as it clicked. "I really hurt him, didn't I?"

Spock inclined his head, then shifted. "My abilities have also increased. I can sense your emotions though I am not in physical contact. The sense is distant, but nevertheless there. I can only presume that my 'touch telepathy' has also experienced a sudden increase in sensitivity."

McCoy frowned, glancing between the standing Vulcan and the sleeping Captain. "You can't tell?"

"The bond I now share with the Captain negates my ability to discern what increase in my 'sense' of him is due to his new abilities or my own. It is, simply put, exponentially more powerful than the mating bonds known to my people."

It took McCoy a moment to process what had just been said, and he made a leap that, while unexpected, was not _entirely_ illogical. "Wait—you two are _mated_ now?"

Spock hesitated a moment, "It is possible that my people would see this as an equivalent to a mate-bond."

"So it's not," McCoy sounded somewhere between confused and relieved.

"Bonds are not easily classified, Doctor. Formerly, the mate-bond was the deepest I knew of. This bond goes much deeper than the bonds that have been described to me. It is… _probable_ that my people would see this as an equivalent."

The doctor made a growling sound in the back of his throat, "Damn it, are you or aren't you!?"

Spock closed his eyes for a moment, feeling flickers of emotion from his bondmate as he started to dream.

"If we were to inform the Elders of this occurrence, it is likely that they would declare us 'married'." And though it was an unexpected thing, Spock found that he was not wholly opposed to the idea. Though he had never thought of his Captain in sexual terms, there was no denying how well their minds fit together.

Had it not been so, the out-of-control mental abilities that had erupted at the touch of that alien dust could well have proved permanently damaging, if not fatal. Instead, they had bonded—bonded more deeply than anything Spock had ever heard of.

"Damn," McCoy's voice broke through Spock's quiet realization.

He raised an eyebrow slightly in the doctor's direction when nothing more was forthcoming.

Finally McCoy looked at Spock, "I'm going to go run those tests," he stated. "_You_ get to figure out how to tell Jim he's married."

_xxxx_


	2. Chapter 2

_Second chapter—feels a bit slow to me, but it is necessary to provide background for the story as planned out. Actually, the next couple chapters are all just building the base…_

_But I'll try to update frequently to make up for that. Anyone want to beta for me?_

Chapter 2

Jim actually took it better than McCoy had apparently expected—better than Spock had expected, as well. There was surprise, of course, and confusion. Then annoyance and grudging acceptance once he understood the situation.

"Captain," Spock began after a moment of evaluating how the other man felt, then he paused at a much hotter flash of annoyance through their link.

"Spock, you've got a direct line into my head and, apparently, we're _married._ I think you can call me Jim."

"When we're not on duty," Spock temporized, "Jim. I am uncertain if it would be possible for a bond of this depth, but there _are_ ways to break a mate-bond. If you do not want this…" he let the sentence hang.

Jim stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. Spock was actually _apprehensive._ "Spock… we can keep that option in reserve, but… I'm ok with this. Really," he paused, "Just one question. What do we tell Starfleet?"

Spock considered, running through regulations in his mind, then he settled into his standard position of parade rest. "There are no regulations in place to cover our situation. In this case, we could simply tell the Admiralty the truth."

Dr. McCoy entered the room then, interrupting Jim's next question before it could form.

"Jim, Spock…" he trailed off at the looks he was receiving from the two, then plowed ahead anyway. "Whatever that stuff was, it's had some… _interesting_ effects on you."

"Doctor?" Spock questioned.

McCoy hesitated.

"Just spit it out, Bones," Jim advised.

"I can't be entirely certain of the end result," he admitted grudgingly, "but it's altered your basic DNA sequences. You'll be experiencing some changes while your bodies adapt to whatever it's done to you—and it obviously effected your brain chemistry and functions much more quickly."

Jim stared at him while Spock's eyebrows furrowed slightly in thought.

"I'd _like_ to keep you both here for observation, but I know how well you'd take that, Jim. So I'm going to release you for light duty on the condition that you report to Sickbay every other day _religiously_ and you come to me _immediately _if you notice anything out of the ordinary."

Jim's agreement was rather reluctant, as seeing the doctor usually resulted in him getting stabbed with hyposprays, but even he knew better than to mess with altered DNA. There really was no telling what would happen.

Spock's assurance came much more easily, and he also assured McCoy that he would escort Jim to Sickbay should anything happen.

Jim pouted when Spock's word was much more easily accepted than his own.

"All right, you two—get out of my Sickbay. Alpha shift starts in twenty minutes."

_xxxx_

The two walked to the Bridge together, Spock adding a few last-minute warnings concerning Jim's newfound telepathy.

As the turbolift doors opened to the Bridge, Jim effortlessly switched to 'speaking' through the link, finding it felt remarkably natural.

_Do you think we should tell the bridge crew?_

Spock glanced at Jim as he made his way to the science station. _Informing the Command Crew of your untrained touch-telepathy would be prudent. However, if you are not comfortable with sharing the details of our bonding, I would not be offended._

Jim stopped behind his chair and turned to face his First Officer, _Nothing to be ashamed of, right?_

_Indeed… Jim._ Spock inclined his head slightly.

A sense of decisive approval flickered over in reply and the Captain clapped his hands once, effectively stopping all of the usual settling-in habits of the Command Crew.

Sulu, just stepping onto the Bridge with Chekov for their shift, blinked at the silence.

Chekov smiled brightly, "It is good to see you are well, Keptan."

"Yeah, that's actually what you guys need to be briefed on," Jim grimaced self-deprecatingly. "Spock can probably explain better than I can."

"Indeed, Captain," Spock agreed, mild amusement humming under his usual stoicism. He raised an eyebrow at the mental prod, briefly meeting Jim's gaze, _We are on duty, Captain_.

Jim grimaced, "Not in my head, please."

The confusion he got for that comment was totally worth saying it aloud.

Spock inclined his head in surrender, "Very well."

Uhura was already catching on, "All right, what's going on?"

"A substance we encountered on the last away mission had several unforeseen effects," Spock stated in his usual monotone.

"Such as?" she prompted, turning her searching gaze from the Captain to the Science Officer.

"The Captain has developed 'touch telepathy' similar to that found in Vulcans, but far more sensitive. As he is untrained in this new ability, any skin contact is liable to cause him extreme pain."

Spock waited a moment for surprise and concern to die down, concentrating on strengthening his own mental shields before continuing, "My own telepathic abilities have expanded. While touch does continue to greatly strengthen any sensations I am receiving from others, touch no longer seems to be a necessity in order for me to sense emotion."

More surprise, tempered with a bit of trepidation.

"Yeah," Jim took the attention away from his First Officer for a moment, "And that's really not all. We're not quite sure how it happened, but-"

_I have a theory, Jim._

"Huh. Do tell."

"I made brief physical contact while the Captain's abilities were developing at the same time as my own began to change. It was instinctive to seek out a compatible mind in which to 'ground' those abilities."

Confusion from the bridge crew, dawning suspicion in a few.

"Simply put," Jim waved a hand, "We're bonded."

Uhura raised a hand as though she were still in school, "For the sake of the class, does that mean what I think it does?" She and Spock had ended their relationship some months before, but she had some idea as to Vulcan customs.

Spock raised an eyebrow, "This bond is of a different type than is available to my people, but would likely be viewed as equivalent."

"Which means?" Sulu asked warily.

Jim gave a strange half-grin as he glanced in the pilot's direction, "We're probably married as far as Vulcan customs go."

Jim clapped again, breaking the group out of their shock. "All right, you've been briefed. Get to work."

_Should we tell the Elders?_ he added in Spock's direction.

Spock entered something into his station as he replied, _They will have to be informed eventually._

"Uhura, see if you can get me a line to New Vulcan and route it through to the conference room. Sulu, conn. Spock?"

Spock entered one final code into his station and inclined his head in agreement.

"Yes, sir," Uhura settled in at the Communications station, quickly sending out the request as the Captain and Spock headed towards the conference room.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, I'll repeat—anyone for beta? I could use one—and I don't particularly care if you're an official beta for this site or not. Mainly what I need is someone to hassle me about updating and check over my work—make suggestions as to anything that seems a bit off or unbelievable, that sort of thing. I don't generally pick that out well, myself._

_Anyway, third chapter for you guys. Have fun!_

Chapter 3

"Well," Ambassador Sarek stated after a several seconds of stunned (yes, _stunned_) silence, "This is… unexpected."

One of the other elders leaned forward slightly, intent. "You say that this bond was non-consensual?"

Spock was dissuaded from replying by a flash of indignation through said bond. Jim may not have known Vulcan laws considering such things, but the implication was not lost on him.

"More like _unavoidable_," Jim stated, keeping his voice remarkably even considering the sensations Spock was getting through their link. "Both of us had just gotten new and untrained telepathic abilities. Neither one of us was in control."

Spock took the following metal nudge as his cue to take up the explanation again. "Had our minds not proven to be completely compatible, the contact would instead have been either permanently damaging or fatal."

A quelling glance from Sarek quieted the offending elder, who subsided in favor of letting the half-Vulcan's father handle the odd situation.

"You realize what this means, do you not?"

Spock inclined his head and Jim nodded. "Yeah, we do."

"Do you wish to petition to have the bond broken?" Sarek pressed.

A silent conversation passed between the two before they spoke as one. "No."

Sarek nodded once. "Very well. Then you are wed."

Jim glanced sideways at Spock. _That's _it?_ I mean, aside from the paperwork?_

The sensation that returned with Spock's reply was rather like a shrug, _It _is_ an unusual situation._

_I was still expecting…_ _I don't know, some kind of trouble?_

_It would be illogical to attempt to refute a bond which clearly exsists._

Jim smothered a snort, _Right. And Vulcans don't do 'illogical'._

And something in Sarek's eyes said he was beginning to understand what happened in those brief silences. "When you stated that the bond goes deeper than those described to you, what exactly did you mean?"

Jim tossed a grin at the Ambassador—now his father-in-law. "We can hear each other think when we want to."

"Jim also sent me a full memory at one point," Spock added, the sense in the bond identifying his subtle pleasure at being able to shock the Elders as a whole and his father in particular.

There was a long silence from the room of Elders before Sarek finally managed to get his eyebrows to return to their normal position and stood, moving over to something off to the side. "I am sending you the paperwork," he stated in explanation.

In a few minutes, the virtual paperwork was filled and filed—the quietest and most unusual wedding Jim had ever heard of—and New Vulcan cut the transmission.

He turned to Spock after a long moment. "Well."

Spock let the corner of his mouth quirk upwards in something that might possibly be called a smile… but only on a Vulcan. "Indeed."

_xxxx_

It was Pike who first called them from the Starfleet. Jim knew what was coming the moment Uhura said 'Admiral'.

"Patch it through to the conference room," he sighed, standing. "Sulu, you've got the conn."

Spock positioned himself slightly behind his Captain's shoulder as they entered the room and Admiral Pike noticed the deliberate arrangement with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

"Jim," he greeted, "Spock. Why did I get a bit of paperwork from New Vulcan saying you two are married to each other?"

Jim gave that half-grin, "Probably because we are."

Pike covered his face with one hand for a moment, then looked up again. "I wasn't aware you two were _dating_."

"We were not, sir," Spock stated.

Pike's eyebrows rose again, "Sounds like this is going to be interesting."

"Accidental telepathic bond, sir," Jim volunteered. "According to Vulcan law, that makes us married. So they had us fill out paperwork."

"I wasn't aware that telepathic bonds of that strength _could_ be accidental."

"Well, sir, you'll be getting the report tomorrow…"

_You are enjoying this far too much._

_How often do I get to hang one over Pike?_ Jim retorted.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Jim smirked.

Pike looked between the two, then sighed. "What am I missing?"

They told him.

_xxxx_

Within a day, Spock noticed the difference in his bondmate's eating habits—he ate more frequently, and his total food intake had increased by about half. Spock had also found himself requiring more nutrition, but not by the same amounts. Specifically protein and calcium, in both their cases, and it was becoming difficult to keep up with his own needs on the ship's limited vegetarian diet, though calcium supplements settled that one fairly easily.

He was planning on taking Jim down to Sickbay with him at the end of the Alpha Shift.

It was halfway through the shift when he sensed the pain hit.

He straightened from where he had bent over to look at a report sent from the botany lab and searched out his bondmate. _Jim?_

A breath and the pain he sensed eased from 'sudden shattering of every bone in his body' to 'deep bruising being pressed on from all sides' levels.

Uhura had looked up at Spock's sudden movement and followed his gaze to the Captain, who was not showing any of the typical outward indicators of pain.

Spock let out a silent breath, "Captain, I believe you should accompany me to Sickbay."

His lack of protest was very telling, and the sense Spock got from him was one of resigned agreement that became a good bit less resigned as a second wave of pain hit.

The entire bridge froze, all attention going to the Captain as he jerked slightly and Spock moved to help him stand.

Jim staggered at a flash of dizziness, Spock's hand on his elbow steadying him, and the Vulcan lifted his communicator. "Spock to Sickbay."

McCoy answered almost immediately, sounding slightly distracted, "Spock? I was just getting ready to call you—I think I've figured out some of what's going to-"

Spock cut him off in a too-calm voice, "I am bringing the Captain to you, Doctor. He is in severe pain."

"Damn. Sooner than I'd expected. Get him down here fast, then."

"I was intending to, Doctor. Spock out."

Spock guided his bondmate towards the turbolift, barely glancing around the bridge to ensure that everything else was as it should be. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

_xxxx_

McCoy ran several scans on the Captain, frowning the whole time. He checked and re-checked everything, then sighed and dropped down into a chair not far from the sedated man before pointing a finger at Spock, "Find yourself a biobed and get comfortable. You're next."

"Doctor," Spock selected the bed nearest Jim's, "your diagnosis?"

"Diagnosis?" McCoy snorted, "Damn it, man! I don't have a _diagnosis._ This is something that's never been _seen_ before!"

Spock could sense the doctor's stress, and it was the only thing preventing him from replying with words meant to incense. Instead he tilted his head in acknowledgement, "Leonard. You are not the only one concerned for Jim's welfare. I understand your frustration," and there _was_ frustration streaked through general stress and anxiety, "but I cannot be of any aid if I do not know his condition."

"Damn it," he repeated, more subdued this time. "I liked you better when you were a _touch_ telepath."

Spock refrained from pointing out the diminishing frustration and anxiety as he replied, "I was under the impression that you held no affection for me regardless, Doctor."

A brief shot of amusement, quickly swallowed by resignation as McCoy glanced at Jim's biobed, "His muscle and bone density are shooting up—he may be as strong as _you_ by tomorrow. There are quickly dissipating traces of a nerve inhibitor that seems to target pain nerves specifically… I'm guessing this just hit all at once?"

"A crude yet accurate description, Doctor."

"Otherwise he would have been feeling pretty bad for the past day or so," McCoy continued absently. "There's a chance that the same thing's happening to you." He stood, reaching for his tricorder. "Might have to call in M'Benga. He knows more about Vulcan physiology."

"If you believe it is necessary, I have no objections, Doctor, provided he remains at least five feet from Jim at all times."

McCoy looked up, surprised. "Why's that?" a trace of sardonic humor, "Jealous?"

"There is nothing amusing about this situation, Doctor," Spock informed quietly. "The Captain's mental shields are feeble at best, and he cannot maintain them while asleep or unconscious. If the touch of a friend he knows and trusts caused him pain, what would the touch of a near-stranger do?"

Understanding and chagrin flitted through the air as McCoy started scanning the half-Vulcan. He paused, then re-ran the scan, much as he had done for Jim. He sighed, then reached for a hypo.

"Same thing's happening to you. Less, though. Must be because you got a smaller dose of… whatever it was. Pollen?"

"The substance appeared to be similar to Terran pollen," Spock allowed, wincing subtly as a deep ache began to spread through his body. "It was dropped from the fur of a flying creature on the planet and reddish in color. However, because it was dropped by the creature and not the plant it had been roosting on, there is no accurate way to confirm by sight alone."

"There were traces of something on Jim's clothes, but it was degrading so rapidly that we couldn't really tell _what_ it was. Apparently it hit you two at just the right stage to screw with your systems."

That explained why no one else had been effected.

"I'm gonna put you under for now," McCoy paused just long enough to see if Spock would protest, then hit him with the hypo. "I'll let you know what's going on when you wake up."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was with a distinct sense of disorientation that Spock woke, time-sense askew from an unknown period deeply unconscious. Not only was he uncertain of the date and time—an unusual event in itself—he physically felt… _different._

A glance at his surroundings confirmed that he was still in Sickbay, and a clock on the far wall told him the time down to the second. And, though it was Sickbay and therefore not particularly colorful, those colors that there were seemed much more refined.

Then he realized he had been unable to clearly make out the second reading on the digital clock when he had settled on the biobed fifty-one hours, twenty-eight minutes, fifty-seven seconds ago. Now it was… easy. And his link with Jim…

Where before it had been all sharp edges, defined a little _too_ clearly for all it _fit_ without pain, now the edges had softened. The link was as strong as ever, but there was less definition, less of a line between _Jim_ and _Spock._

If he were to describe it in words, he would say it had settled. It was no longer new and raw, but had the feel of having been there for countless years.

The sound of a footstep brought his head whipping around, then he realized that McCoy—the owner of the foot which had made the sound—was further away than he had expected. Hearing had also improved.

Experimentally, Spock sniffed the air. The Vulcan sense of smell was better than a human's, but not by any inordinate amount. Now, though… it was nearly overwhelming.

He was almost afraid to experiment with touch, and taste would likely be interesting as well.

Then McCoy was running a tricorder over him and muttering to himself—Spock could easily hear him, but none of the mutters seemed particularly relevant—before nodding and stepping back a bit.

"Well, you seem to be stable. You haven't undergone any changes for the past day, so I let the sedative wear off. How are you feeling?"

Spock tilted his head slightly, "I am in acceptable condition."

McCoy's irritation flickered through the air and he amended his observation. "My senses appear to have improved."

"Yeah, you're stronger, too," McCoy shook his head, "You're gonna have to be careful until you get used to it. You're now about five times stronger than the average human."

An increase of approximately 66.67%, Spock noted absently, before turning his attention to his bondmate as he felt Jim waking.

Then shock.

Instinctively, he sent a questioning pulse towards his bondmate, only to learn that Jim had been caught off-guard by improved senses. A quick memory exchange showed that their senses were roughly equal.

"Jim, good, you're awake," McCoy was keeping his voice to an even volume, not loud, to avoid further shocking newly-discovered hearing. "You're about as strong as the average Vulcan, now, so you're going to have to learn to control your strength."

Fascinating. An increase of nearly 200%.

"I don't know about reflexes for either of you," he continued, "There's no real way to test those when you're unconscious. And I'm sure you've already noticed the senses."

Jim made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat.

"Any pain?"

After a moment's consideration, both Jim and Spock replied with negatives. Simultaneously.

McCoy was honestly a little creeped out by that, but didn't mention it. Instead, he set about testing his patients' reflexes and getting a more accurate idea as to their new strength.

The two submitted with Vulcan stoicism and slightly better than bad grace, respectively, but Jim tended to crush unoffending equipment with his newly increased strength and even Spock had damaged several items before adjusting.

Admittedly, Jim had more adjusting to do—the percentage by which his strength had increased was far greater, after all.

Finally, McCoy reached the limit of his patience. "All right, that's it!" he snapped, a sharp edge of irritation tainting the air to Spock's senses, "You, lie down, now!" he pointed accusingly at Jim. "We'll take this to one of the exercise rooms tomorrow."

Jim huffed, his own frustrated bemusement underscoring his link to Spock, but lay back against the bed with no real protest.

Spock considered the fact that, while he could easily sense Jim's emotions, they didn't seem to hover in the air the way that McCoy's did, instead settling easily in the back of his own mind. Then he set the observation aside for later thought and allowed himself to fall back against the pillow of his own biobed, sensing McCoy's attention turning to him with less frustration but the same general intent.

The doctor gave him a suspicious glare, but refrained from commenting on the matter.

"Either of you causes any trouble and I'm drugging _both_ of you back to sleep," he informed before stalking off towards his office. "I've got some more tests to run."

_xxxx_

The next day found Jim and Spock in one of the _Enterprise_'s exercise rooms, a gleefully irritated Dr. McCoy watching them.

Jim was a bundle of focused determination in the back of Spock's mind as he worked on turning the knowledge of how to handle things without causing damage into habit so that he would not accidentally damage the crew.

Spock already knew how to control his own increased strength, and, as a Vulcan, nearly every move he made was carefully thought out and controlled. He was not in any great danger of causing excessive damage, and had less of a percentage increase of strength to deal with.

Spock settled down out of the way, occasionally sending encouragement or affirmation through the bond, which he had discovered kept Jim from growing frustrated. That in itself was a worthy goal, as a frustrated Jim had a tendency to _want_ to crush things.

After almost three hours (2.87, to be precise) McCoy called a halt to that and set about ordering the two to take a break for lunch.

As Spock considered Jim's physical condition as well as his own, he realized he should have called for such a halt earlier. Jim was now shaking slightly and Spock also required nutrition.

Jim was distracted by complaining (with a few curses thrown in) as McCoy hit him with a hypo, so Spock used the guaranteed method of making sure he was 'heard'.

_Would you rather dine in the mess or one of our private quarters?_ Sickbay was out of the question, after the sheer amount of time they had spent there recently.

"Mess is fine," Jim answered aloud, carefully dodging McCoy's next hypo.

"You need the vitamins," McCoy snapped, waving the hypospray and ignoring the answer to a question he hadn't heard.

Reluctantly, Jim submitted to the combined effects of McCoy's glare and Spock's rather pointed mental nudge, grumbling.

Spock accepted his two hypos with a good deal better grace, and the two were allowed to leave.

_xxxx_

It was uncommon for the Captain and First Officer to both show up in the mess in standard blacks, but by this point the entire ship had heard something about what had happened on the last away mission. All conversation stopped and almost every eye turned to the pair.

No one questioned the two as they selected their food and made their way to an unoccupied table, but neither did the former conversations start back up.

_This is going to be interesting._

Spock glanced across the table, gauging the emotion he sensed from his bondmate, and inclined his head slightly in agreement.

And one of the ensigns finally blurted out the question everyone had been wanting to ask. "Is it true you two are married?"

Two heads turned and the red-shirted security ensign suddenly found himself on the receiving end of one blue and one brown-eyed gaze.

He fidgeted. "Sorry, sirs, I just…"

Jim snorted, "Curiosity killed the cat, Ensign. But yes, it's true."

In under an hour, it was all over the ship that the Captain had admitted to marrying the First Officer. This was a subject of some bemusement, as, as far as anyone knew, neither of the two was actually _gay._

Then, unexpectedly, a blue-shirted science ensign stopped them in the hallway, rather shyly. "Um, I just…" she blushed and looked down. "Congratulations, sirs!" and she scampered off before either of them could begin to form a coherent reply.

Spock glanced at Jim's expression, which matched the sensations through the link—confused amusement.

_This is going to be a very long week._

Spock was inclined to agree.


	5. Chapter 5

_Well, all, chapter five. And I'm co-writing a fic with Shadewolf7 entitled 'Crash Consequences' if anyone's interested. ST2009 & LOTR crossover._

Chapter 5

A 'very long week', indeed. They were assigned what Jim would refer to as a 'milk run' that was to last approximately twelve days. Five days travel from their current location; one day at a farming planet known as Tarsus IV, where they were to pick up a local diplomat; and six days back to Starfleet headquarters, where they were to drop off said diplomat and acquire their next mission.

Spock suspected that they had been ordered on this mission as a punishment, as the wavering emotion from Jim upon hearing the orders had ranged from rage to resignation, before going nearly Vulcan-blank. Obviously he knew something about Tarsus IV that Spock did not, and the half-Vulcan was quietly determined to find out what had caused the negative reaction.

However, it was doubtful that it would be a wise decision to ask while on the bridge, as he was uncertain as to what Jim's response would be.

It was, surprisingly, Sulu who spoke up as soon as the transmission was cut. "Tarsus IV?" he glanced around the bridge, "Isn't that where Kodos ordered half the colony killed thirteen years ago?"

The suppressed rage Spock sensed from his bondmate flared up and Jim's knuckles went white where he held the arms of his chair. Hollow metal groaned in protest, slowly buckling under the pressure.

The entire bridge silenced, every eye going to the Captain.

It was a surprise when he answered. "Yes." Terse, angry.

But there was something else underneath that rage, and it took Spock a moment to place it. The same kind of wild, out-of-control grief that had triggered his own rage after his planet and mother had been murdered, mingled with a dark and ugly self-loathing.

In four steps Spock was behind the captain's chair, a hand going to his bondmate's shoulder as he struggled to break through swirling emotion to Jim's mind. _Jim?_

And Jim slumped, ever so slightly, grip easing. "They didn't make it out," he stated after a moment, his quiet words reaching everyone on the hushed bridge. A flash of bitterness, then he was standing and Spock's hand dropped from his shoulder.

"Spock, conn."

No one dared say anything.

_xxxx_

Spock found his bondmate in one of the exercise rooms, running on a treadmill. Admittedly, it was about the only thing he _could_ do without destroying something, as the exercise rooms were designed for human-level strength, in accordance with the majority of the crew.

The rage had dimmed to frustration and anger, mingled with faint weariness, but the deep-rooted grief and self-loathing remained.

Spock settled quietly out of the way and waited, idly thinking that they would need to modify part of one of the exercise rooms to be durable enough for the Captain to work off the frustrations that would undoubtedly arise as part of running a starship.

It was several minutes before Jim finally wound down enough that he turned off the treadmill and acknowledged Spock's presence.

Spock took the glance as permission to speak. "Are you well, Jim?"

And Jim grimaced, reaching for a towel to run through sweat-shaggy locks. "I'll live."

Spock hesitated, considering what he sensed from the man, then settled back into relaxed parade rest. "I am… concerned for you," he admitted.

Jim glanced at him, a flash of gratitude flickering through the bond, quickly being swallowed by reluctance. "I don't think I'm ready to talk about it."

Spock inclined his head, accepting that. "I will be here if you change your mind."

Another flicker of gratitude, stronger this time.

"Thanks, Spock."

_xxxx_

Spock didn't realize the severity of the situation until that night, during what had become a nightly ritual of guiding Jim in meditation. Jim was unusually adept at learning the Vulcan methods, for a human. He already had learned the basics, and it had only been a few days.

But this time…

Spock opened his eyes after experiencing a flash of memory not his own. _Hunger/fear/desperation/_rage. A name, a curse. _"Kodos!"_

Just a flash, hardly enough to draw any conclusions, but…

Jim had been there. Spock was sure of it.

And so many things clicked into place, so many quirks that the man had that had undoubtedly started during the famine on Tarsus IV.

But how to broach the subject? Jim had already indicated a reluctance to talk about it… and Spock did not wish to press. Things were difficult enough between them without forcing a subject that was as… _unpleasant_ as the Tarsus IV genocide must be to one of the few survivors.

Spock had looked it up; there _were_ survivors of the 'kill list'. Not many, and most of those adults even at the time. But the children… the children's names had not been mentioned, although three of the four had apparently credited their survival to the fourth. A blue-eyed thirteen-year-old they called 'Jay'.

Perhaps it was a misspelling. Equally plausible would have been a simple 'J'. And the age was a match.

Jim sighed, and in a moment blue met brown. "Sorry."

Spock _almost_ echoed the sigh, instead inclining his head slightly. "Perhaps tonight we should attempt something different."

_xxxx_

An hour later found them in one of the exercise rooms, in an open, matted area designated for sparring, with Spock leading Jim through a basic drill from a Vulcan martial art form. The exertion of the exercise coupled with the mental challenge of learning an entirely new martial art style—Jim's old habits kept having to be gently corrected for the forms of the Vulcan discipline—were proving to be an effective form of 'meditation' for Jim, and his troubled emotions were calming.

Spock considered that an accomplishment of sorts, but he was uncertain as to whether it would ultimately prove to be a… 'good thing'.

In a Vulcan, emotional suppression was lauded, considered normal and necessary. In humans, whose emotions ranged more broadly and less towards killing rage, suppressing emotions was considered detrimental over long periods of time, accepted only as a temporary practice to remain functional in a situation where emotions would cloud judgment.

Spock had taken a human psychology course while in the Starfleet Academy; he knew what was considered normal and healthy for humans. Speaking of the instances that were the source of negative emotion was considered the most reliable way to be rid of—or at least lessen—those emotions.

While Spock was uncertain how to convince Jim to speak without prying where he was not welcome, he _did_ know that avoiding and supressing emotion was ultimately detrimental to human health.

A quandary.

To leave the situation alone—and it was probable that no one else aboard the ship would willingly broach the subject with their Captain—was potentially harmful to his bondmate. However, pressing for answers against Jim's wishes would be unlikely to produce favorable results.

A quandary indeed. Allowing a potentially harmful situation to continue was against every belief Spock held in regards to both a bondmate and a Captain. As a Vulcan, a bondmate was to be cherished, cared for, and protected at very nearly _any_ cost. As First Officer, it was his duty to ensure his Captain's health and safety.

However, as both a Vulcan and First Officer, both a bondmate's and Captain's wishes were to be respected.

Spock cut off his thought process, realizing he was simply circling the problem and not approaching anything that could be considered a possible resolution.

Jim's weariness pressed at Spock's mind, and the anger was spent… for now. The grief lingered, touched with that ugly blot of self-loathing, but the mingled emotions were dimmed. Jim needed sleep and Spock had to admit to his own need for rest upon Jim's tired inquiry.

They returned to their respective quarters, taking quick turns in the shared bathroom, and retired to their beds.

Spock sensed Jim fall asleep after some minutes, and only then did he close his own eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

_All right, chapter six. Yes, I know I left the end hanging. People can draw their own conclusions for that little scene. I'm mean, I know. As for the reason for the ending scene-I couldn't leave off the chapter being dark and angsty. There will be plenty of time for that later. Meanwhile, enjoy what I've gotg, and I'll set about typing up the next chapter._

Chapter 6

That night, Spock's decision was all but forced upon him as he found himself dreaming of jumbled horrors he had never experienced. Of hunger that gnawed at his insides until he learned to ignore it, of abuses wrought on fragile human flesh that it was a miracle he'd survived. Of being told to take the others and run, and having so _many_ of the few under his care die—three caught, four more falling to illness weakened bodies could not fight off.

Spock forced himself awake as he realized what was happening—that the dream, the _nightmare_ was not his own. That it, or something very like it, had once been terribly real.

He bypassed the hallway entirely, cutting through the shared bathroom and using his override to enter Jim's quarters, moving to wake his bondmate, calling with voice and mind alike.

Jim snapped awake in a haze of desperation and panic, eyes flashing to every side before settling on Spock.

He calmed with the recognition of when and where he was, and promptly gave into puzzlement as to what his First was doing in his quarters, the feeling tinged with apprehension.

Spock correctly interpreted the reason behind the emotion and settled into a slightly tense version of parade rest. "The ship is fine, Captain."

"Jim," said Captain corrected automatically, even as puzzlement turned to realization and humiliation.

"You saw that, didn't you?"

Spock inclined his head silently, forcing himself to relax, running through a quick technique to put building emotion aside.

Jim sighed, running a hand over his face and through his hair. "I'm sorry."

Spock raised an eyebrow, the unidentifiable emotion trembling under his control. "You are not at fault."

Shame flickered through the link, underscored with that horrible self-loathing and grief, and Jim shut his eyes. "Aren't I?"

Spock found himself losing control of the strange emotion and he stared at his bondmate, more disturbed than he cared to admit that Jim felt so… _strongly_ that some part of the Tarsus IV genocide was his fault.

"That seems illogical," Spock stated finally. "What causes you to believe you are at fault?"

Jim hesitated, glancing wearily at Spock, then gestured to the chair across from the bed.

Spock took the chair in silence, sensing that this was difficult enough for his bondmate without him speaking.

"I was supposed to take care of them," Jim said finally. "I was supposed to get them out. Kodos' people came in and just started _shooting…_"

A flash of a scene, of blood and fire and death, the air filled with the sound of children screaming. Some of the adults that Jim's mind identified as 'Counselors' shouting commands, grabbing some of the younger children while others did anything and everything they could to distract their own executioners.

"_Get them out!" it was an order from a man already dying, still on his feet by desperate will alone, shoving several of the younger children at Jim._

_He obeyed without hesitation, knowing he was the only chance the young ones had, falling behind in a deliberate gesture, herding them ahead of him, praying none of them would feel the phase-rifles' fire burn into their flesh._

_One fell screaming, and Jim did_ _not stop, _couldnot_ turn back, because the ones that remained still had that chance to run, and he had to physically force two of them on as they tried to go to their fallen friend._

"She was the first," There was something dark and bitter lurking in Jim at that moment, something old and deeply ingrained. "She wasn't the last."

More flashes—death after death, ranging from a quick burst of weapons' fire stealing life from once-vibrant emerald eyes to the slow, lingering fade as the smallest boy fell ill and nothing they did could save him.

Spock's eyebrows furrowed as that nameless emotion welled up in him, hot and fierce. "I do not see how any of those instances could be attributed to your actions."

"Even if they weren't my _fault,_" Jim murmured, grief and helplessness welling up in him, "they were still my _responsibility._"

Spock deliberately projected what he was feeling through their bond, dropping his own mental shields entirely. "You were thirteen Standard years old," he all but growled.

"I was all they had."

Spock didn't know how to respond to that, and his mind worked franticly for a moment. "What of the other three?"

Hesitation, then it came in a wild rush of heat and pain and terror. Jim—J—had led away a patrol that had come close (_too_ close) to finding their hidden sanctuary, hoping and praying that the others wouldn't be found, that no one would bother to look again after he let himself be caught.

"I don't know," he admitted after a long moment. "I couldn't… look at what they wrote about… I just. I couldn't."

He didn't know?

"Four children from the kill list were retrieved from Tarsus IV. Their names were not released in order to protect their privacy, but there was a small article on how three of the four accredited their survival to someone they referred to simply as 'Jay', presumed to be the fourth survivor."

And a flash of something between them, so strong that for a moment Spock couldn't tell who the emotion belonged to, wild and desperate and burningly _hopeful_.

"They're _alive?_"

"As I am unaware of their identities, there is no way for me to be certain. However, if the three others rescued from Tarsus IV were indeed those you gave yourself up to protect, they did survive Kodos' kill order," Spock injected the name specifically to assign blame to a more deserving target.

Jim slumped forward, head dropping into shaking hands, but the sense Spock got from him was of fragile, exhausted elation. "They're _alive_," he breathed.

Spock considered for a long moment, examining his bondmate with eyes and mind. Jim was indeed exhausted, and that elation would likely be brief, as it was already dimming. Beneath it, the darker emotions still lurked, and rage and hate were seeping through from below even grief.

Something told Spock that Jim was not going to be sleeping again that night.

_xxxx_

The rest of that night was spent quietly playing chess and exchanging (much) less painful stories from their respective childhoods.

"I once broke another student's nose," Spock stated, his voice calmly informational.

The tone did nothing to dim Jim's reaction. "Really? Why?" Incredulous curiosity danced between them.

"He insulted my mother."

The curiosity morphed into delighted pride, "Well, good for you!"

Spock favored Jim with a raised eyebrow, "I believe you are the first to have expressed that sentiment."

Jim glanced carelessly at the chessboard (ordinary chess, not Three-Tier) and moved a bishop. "Some things are worth defending."

Spock quieted contemplatively. He had not thought of the indiscretion in his youth in those terms. Instead of immediately replying, Spock examined the chessboard, finding himself slightly puzzled as to the method of Jim's apparent madness in play.

Jim seemed content to let him do so, leaning back in his chair and watching.

After a few minutes deliberation, Spock moved a rook several squares, taking a knight from Jim's side.

Jim grinned.

Spock suddenly found himself wondering what he had missed as the sense he got from his bondmate turned from tired curiosity to mischievous anticipation.


	7. Chapter 7

_Please forgive the loooooong delay-I was out of town for much of it due to family emergency. For the record, this story has _not_ been abandoned-nor will it be, should I have any choice in the matter._

Chapter 7

Morning came, and with it, the slightly awkward beginnings of something that might be termed a 'relationship.' One that was not based entirely on work.

What that relationship would prove to be, however, Spock was uncertain. He certainly believed he knew more of his Captain, now. He would even admit to some understanding as to the man beneath the Captain's gold. Was this friendship? Or was it more than that?

It was decidedly different from his friendly relations with Nyota, and vastly different from their awkward attempt at a romantic relationship.

Spock set the thoughts aside for a later time, pulling on his blue Science Officer's shirt, and exited his quarters, pausing a moment to wait for his bondmate.

Jim acknowledged the gesture as he joined Spock, offering a smile and a wash of gratitude. "Thanks."

Spock had the feeling that it was not simply the small gesture of waiting that he was being thanked for.

_xxxx_

Alpha Shift came and went uneventfully and Spock headed towards the Botany Lab afterwards, politely informing his bondmate as to where he was going.

Jim showed no problem with the idea, returning Spock's silent message with one of his own. _'K. I'm heading down to Sickbay to harass Bones._

Spock was unable to suppress a brief flash of amusement at that comment and offered, _Enjoy yourself,_ as a form of farewell as he stepped onto the turbolift.

_xxxx_

Fifteen minutes later, Leonard McCoy was certainly feeling harassed. And exasperated.

"Damn it, Jim," he huffed, folding his arms almost petulantly, "I'm a _doctor._ I'm _busy._"

Jim flashed an unrepentant grin, even while trying to shake a strange feeling. "Bones, your shift's _over._"

McCoy sighed, tapping a PADD against his thigh almost absently, "All right, what's wrong? If it's something that green-blooded—"

Jim barked a laugh, raising his hands placatingly, "No! Nothing. I mean…" he floundered for a moment, the mission flashing into his mind, then settled for something less alarming. "I just have a weird feeling."

"Weird feeling?" McCoy went halfway into doctor-mode just from those two words, almost reaching for the nearest medical tricorder.

"Yeah," Jim noticed the shift in his friend's attentiveness. "You know, like something's about to go wrong."

McCoy wasn't sure whether to relax or duck for cover. It meant there were _probably_ no new strange things going on with his friend's body, but Jim's 'feelings' weren't often wrong.

"Only _not_ like something's about to go wrong," Jim continued. "More like… there's somewhere I should be that I'm not."

Quite abruptly he changed tracks, "I'm going to the Botany Lab."

He was halfway to the door before McCoy registered what had just happened. "Damn it, Jim!"

It took him a moment to grab his basic 'Jim Kit'—the Botany Lab was one of the places on the ship that the Captain should be barred from visiting, in Leonard's opinion. With his range of allergies…

"Get back here!"

Why the damn _Botany Lab?_

_xxxx_

Spock paused in his reading of the PADD the scientist had handed him upon his entering the Botany Lab, raising his head slightly, one eyebrow quirking upwards as he heard the door to the lab slide open. Without turning, he knew exactly who it was, and it occurred to him to wonder what Jim was doing _scampering_ into the Botany Lab while his end of the bond nearly vibrated with mischievous glee.

Spock decided not to ask, opting instead to return his attention to the PADD in his hand.

He then _almost_ started when Jim veritably draped himself over Spock's side, resting his temple against the taller Vulcan's shoulder. "What'cha doing?"

Spock closed his eyes for a brief moment, carefully controlling his shock in an attempt to keep it from his bondmate—such contact was, for a Vulcan, _far_ beyond the realm of acceptable in an ordinary social situation. Even between bondmates.

Jim pulled back a little, showing that he'd picked up on Spock's temporary loss of composure, but didn't apologize or break contact entirely.

"I am reviewing the progress of an experiment designed to forcibly adapt several plants native to Vulcan to survive in the more alkaline soil on New Vulcan."

Jim suddenly radiated interest, "Is it working?"

"The theory is promising, but the experiment itself is only in the beginning stages. It will take several more days to begin seeing the results."

There was a faint flicker of disappointment at having to wait to find out, but Jim's interest didn't wane.

"What's the theory?"

Spock suppressed the urge to smile, instead setting about explaining the experiment to his bondmate.

They were interrupted by the botany lab doors hissing open again, revealing an irritated Dr. McCoy.

"Damn it, Jim!"

As if to justify the doctor's presence, Jim pulled away from Spock and sneezed.

"Out!" Bones started to herd his friend away from his bondmate and out the door, careful not to touch.

Spock forcibly repressed an illogical flash of anger, almost frowning at the odd response. He was not jealous of the doctor and could even—vaguely—understand McCoy's desire to remove Jim from the lab, though it did seem to be an overreaction.

A flash of _something_ washed over him from Jim, and his repressed anger vanished under the strange flood.

"Later, Spock!" Jim called over McCoy's shoulder as the door slid closed.

Slightly bemused, Spock sent his own farewell silently.

_xxxx_

Jim was… sulking?

The sensation was incredibly distracting, it being one Spock had not experienced since early childhood, so he turned his attention towards his Captain. _Is something wrong, Jim?_

There was a flicker of something like surprise before the reply came. _Bones made me leave._

Spock was nonplussed by that response, not quite sure what an appropriate reaction would be.

Jim apparently picked up on that, as sulking gave way to amusement.

Spock's eyebrow twitched briefly upwards, then he shook his head and gave up on the PADD, his focus slipping back to the contact Jim had initiated earlier.

While he had been caught completely off-guard by the nearly full-body contact and uncomfortable with their location when it had happened, the touch itself had not been unpleasant. Jim's compromise—and it _had_ been a compromise—of pulling back without entirely breaking the contact had eased Spock's discomfort with the situation while still providing…

Spock paused, coming to a realization he was entirely certain he should have come to earlier.

He went in search of his bondmate.

_xxxx_

"Jim, you've been twitchy since this whole thing started—not that I blame you—"

Jim snorted, glancing at his friend irritably.

Undeterred, Bones plowed on, "—but you've been even _more_ twitchy the past day or so. What's wrong?"

Jim floundered for a moment, struggling with himself. Spock was the first person he'd actually talked to about it—ever—and _that_ was because it wasn't fair to be dropping nightmares on him with no explanation. Even various therapists he'd been sent to in his youth couldn't crack his silence.

Bones had never pried into Jim's past, never asked about the scars or the improperly-healed broken bones he'd had to fix. The questions were in his eyes, the suspicions, but he'd never voiced them, knowing Jim didn't want to talk about it any more than Bones wanted questions about his ex-wife.

But he'd noticed. And now…

_Jim?_ A pulse of sharp concern, not his own. Not like the earlier, bemused question.

_I—_ Jim found himself floundering again, not quite sure how to respond. He sent the memory of the question Bones had just asked and hoped Spock would understand.

"Jim?"

Jim waved his hand in Bones' direction, indicating he should wait a moment.

_I see._ The concern lost the sharpness, but a tinge of something else welled up in its place, warm and comforting. _Are you in Sickbay?_

_Yeah._ Jim accepted the unspoken offer of support.

_I will be there in approximately two minutes._

Jim's lips quirked towards a smile at the Vulcan's precision. _Thanks._

"Jim," Bones' voice was more than a little impatient.

"Wait," Jim stated, moving to sit on 'his' biobed as he glanced around—no nurses in sight, and M'Benga was in the office, out of hearing range.

McCoy followed the quick glance around and found himself growing uneasy. Jim didn't want to be overheard—and what was he waiting for?

Bones returned his attention to Jim just in time to see tension visibly leech out of his posture—right before the door slid open.

He expected tension to return even as he glanced towards the door to see the resident half-Vulcan step in—Jim didn't bother looking.

Spock crossed the room without pausing and very deliberately placed a supportive hand on Jim's shoulder, much to McCoy's shock.

Jim blinked and looked up at the Vulcan, a question in eyes and mind.

_Later._

Acceptance.

"All right, what's going on?"

Jim took a breath, let it out slowly, and turned those too-blue, pained eyes towards his friend. "What do you know about Tarsus IV?"

Tarsus IV? Bones wondered, trying to place the name. "The place we're headed?"

A slight nod.

"Not much," Bones admitted. "Farming planet, there was a severe famine there about ten years ago…" he trailed off as he remembered the rest. Oh. Oh, _hell._ He'd known Jim's childhood had been less than ideal, but he'd never _imagined…_

And Jim started to speak.

_xxxx_

_This is the full chapter. The next chapter is mostly finished, but I want this one to get looked over—suggestions, comments, etc, welcome—before I sent out what I have for that one._

_Sorry it took me so long. Between a general lack of inspiration and a family emergency that I'd much rather not have had to deal with… things got hectic. However, I'm back now, and (hopefully) will be for a while._


	8. Chapter 8

_Yes, I am aware that this is a rather vague retelling, but I have difficulties writing long high-stress scenes (especially believably). And, somehow, I don't think I could do justice to it even if I was good at it—what can you write to truly bring forth the 'reality' of _genocide? _(And, presuming I pulled it off, how many people would be traumatized by my descriptions?)_

_I might be able to come close with rather fleeting snapshots, but I do not intend to collect those all in one place._

_Again, I left the chapter relatively light-heartedly, considering the direction my story is taking. And I figured it was time a few steps were taken, in no small part due to the fact that Jim Kirk is _not_ a Vulcan. He's actually relatively touchy-feely for a _human,_ especially in 2009 'verse._

_Chapter 8_

A part of Spock wanted to stop it, halt the terrible recounting of a childhood nightmare that had been all too real. He had seen—was again seeing—it through the eyes of his bondmate, then a terrified, desperate child.

As much as he wished it had never been, that he would somehow be able to shelter Jim from that horror, he knew his bondmate needed this. Jim needed to tell it, to draw that lingering poison from mental wounds, to bleed out all the rage and grief and doubt.

So Spock stood a silent sentinel behind his bondmate, his Captain, and kept one hand firmly pressed against a gold-clad shoulder, offering physical and mental support. He stayed with Jim through the memories, distantly aware of building horror from the listening doctor.

And then it was over, Jim slumping back against the arms that were suddenly there to support him, mentally exhausted.

Rage and grief lingered, burning under weariness, the slow taint of self-loathing streaked through it.

Spock closed his eyes for a moment, resisting the urge to give in to his own fury, the ancient, killing wrath of his Vulcan heritage—and hunt down the one who had caused all this, who had so wounded his bondmate.

As satisfying as it would be to rip Kodos apart, there was a more immediate need to tend to.

Almost reluctantly, Spock pushed back his desire to wreak complete and utter destruction on Kodos and settled more firmly into Jim's mind.

Where there should be sunlit warmth was a mass of dark heat, all-consuming black fire that flickered and stormed, choking out the light that Spock had come to associate with Jim.

A sense of recognition filtered through the roiling darkness and there was a flicker of something clean and golden, threading through and pushing back the tempest around him, sheltering from what could have been a truly painful experience.

_Spock?_

_Jim._ Spock returned, catching a glimpse of his own mental representation through Jim's perception—like a starlit night, cool and somehow comforting. _I am here._

_Could've hurt you._ Jim's awareness surrounded Spock, protecting against the pain in his own mind.

_I trust you._ Spock was almost surprised at the unconditional truth of that statement. He truly and simply trusted Jim.

_Why?_

Spock froze for a moment, disturbed by the honest confusion laced through the question and uncertain how to reply. The knowledge that Jim would never deliberately hurt him was there, firm and unshakeable.

_Did before,_ Jim's thought was barely a whisper, laced through with guilty memory.

Spock nearly winced on seeing the confrontation from months before through Jim's eyes, that deliberate provocation, forcing hurt and rage—all done at need, but Jim had hated himself for it. Still hated himself for it.

_You did what you had to do,_ he informed his bondmate. Spock had realized that only hours after the incident.

_Still hurt you._

Spock moved to envelope the guilt and hurt with understanding and forgiveness, watching with tangible pleasure as the emotions faded. Not quite gone, but Jim was well on the way to forgiving himself for that, at least, and the storm around quieted.

Rage and grief and self-hate were _there_, but no longer choking.

Gratitude wrapped around him as Jim's mind was once again bright and welcoming, the negative emotions a dimming vortex in the distance. There, and Spock knew—as Jim knew—that they had yet to be completely dealt with, but a step had been taken.

It was enough, for now.

Spock gently withdrew from his bondmate's mind, opening his eyes just as Jim did the same.

"Are you two finished with your psychic voodoo?" Dr. McCoy snapped irritably, a swirling tangle of his conflicting emotions hanging in the air to Spock's senses.

Spock raised an eyebrow in the doctor's direction, "Telepathy is not 'psychic', Doctor. Nor is it a bastardized version of an archaic Earth religion."

Jim gave a muffled snicker, still leaning back against Spock's support, and the half-Vulcan shifted slightly until Jim's weight was resting against one arm and his side instead of both arms.

In a moment, Jim was relaxing further, the steady beat of Spock's heart against his back oddly soothing.

McCoy glared, trying to roust anger to push away horror and shame, but the glare faded into worry.

Spock could understand why, as Jim's awareness faded into a contented haze that eased towards sleep rather quickly.

"He is merely weary, doctor," Spock decided to address the concern before it could turn into something that would rouse his bondmate.

"Enough to fall asleep sitting up in _Sickbay?_"

The doctor had a point, and that word _did_ rouse Jim, at least somewhat. He started up a bit, pulling away from comforting Vulcan heat to glower at nothing in particular, grouchy at being woken.

Spock sent a question, and Jim nodded blearily.

"I will escort him to his quarters," Spock stated for McCoy's benefit, gently guiding his bondmate to his feet.

The doctor nodded once, fully intending to return to his own quarters once he was sure he'd be able to get there without breaking down in the hallway. He had a _lot_ to think about.

_xxxx_

Jim Kirk was tired but aware by the time he reached his quarters, carefully watched over by his Vulcan bondmate.

The door slid open and Spock hesitated for a moment, so Jim waved him in with a thought.

Spock took one step forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him. "Jim. I must apologize."

Cerulean eyes flickered towards the rigid Vulcan. "What for?"

Spock bowed his head slightly, "I failed to take into account your need for tactile reinforcement."

Jim blinked, then blinked again. "I'm confused."

Spock read the purposeful undercurrent to that statement and elaborated. "Compared to Vulcans, humans are and extremely tactile race. Comfort, reassurance, and other forms of reinforcement are communicated through touch. There are few humans who would be comfortable with the distance that is practiced by Vulcans," Spock tilted his head briefly in Jim's direction, "You are not one of those."

Oh.

"Due to the unexpected onset of your 'touch telepathy', you usual avenues of physical reinforcement are closed. I failed to take this into account."

"Spock…" Jim paused, uncertain what he wanted to say. That sounded almost like an offer, and the sense he got through the link only strengthened that implication.

Spock did not seem satisfied with the hesitance and took a step forward, closing the distance between them and reaching out with one hand deliberately, clearly broadcasting his intention.

Startled, Jim didn't pull away as Spock caught his hand, positioning it so that their palms were facing inward, middle and pointer fingers extended and pressed together.

Jim shuddered slightly at the strange sensation, a tingle spreading pleasantly up his arm, and heard Spock's slight intake of breath as he was similarly affected.

"You are my bondmate," Spock's voice was quiet but intense, more meaning layered into those four words than Jim had ever heard from the half-Vulcan before.

For a moment, Jim felt like he was losing himself, and he leaned forward involuntarily, Spock taking a half-step to catch him, wrapping one arm around his chest to offer support without breaking what his mind identified as a Vulcan 'kiss'.

A moment passed and Spock almost reluctantly broke the 'kiss', bringing that arm around to help steady Jim. "You are in need of rest."

Jim was unable to refute that and nodded slightly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the Vulcan's chest.

Spock let his bondmate remain like that for several seconds before nudging him towards the bed. "Sleep," he ordered.

Jim didn't have the energy to protest and plopped down on the edge of his bed just long enough to remove his boots and golden outer-shirt, but he felt strangely vulnerable as Spock turned to leave.

"Stay?"

Spock paused, turned. "Until you are asleep," he temporized, settling beside the bed in a Vulcan meditave pose.

Jim closed his eyes, not bothering to crawl beneath the covers. "Thanks."

He was almost asleep before the soft, familiar brush of Spock's mind against his offered something like 'You're welcome'.


	9. Chapter 9

_All right, next chapter. The tenth is planned but not written, for all you who are waiting, so it will be a while before it actually gets posted, but not as long as it would be should it not have been planned._

Chapter 9

The next few days passed in what was, to Jim Kirk, a haze of stress.

Every light-year brought them closer to the place of his childhood dream-turned-nightmare, and he _could not_ get the memories out of his head. There was some solace in the thought of having saved three—and he would be forever grateful to Spock for having relayed that little bit of information—but the images of so many dead played like some macabre holovid in the back of his mind, even when he tried to focus on other things.

Spock was growing increasingly concerned, the sense Jim got of him through their shared bond allowing the worry through. To Jim's mild surprise, the half-Vulcan wasn't even _trying_ to supress that emotion, though otherwise he remained stoic.

Bones was getting worried to, as evidenced by his popping up at unexpected times with a tricorder and hypos, using the excuse of Jim (and Spock) needing vitamin and mineral supplements as their bodies finished adjusting to certain massive (if visually subtle) physiological changes.

At least Bones had the decency to include Spock in the 'needing hypos' thing, even if he fussed more over Jim.

Another shift over—too quiet, Jim knew, but he couldn't bring himself to tease his command crew when his own mood was so dark. And they _knew _something was wrong—that was the downside of having a ship crewed by geniuses. They _noticed_ that kind of thing.

Jim scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly, pointedly ignoring Uhura's concerned gaze as he stood.

"Keptin?"

Jim paused, glanced at his youngest crewmember, and sighed. "It's been… a very stressful few days, Checov."

"Yes, Keptin," Checov agreed, "but…" he trailed off, uncertain.

Sulu took it upon himself to 'save' the teen. "Is it the mission?"

Jim closed his eyes briefly, feeling more than hearing his First come up to stand at his shoulder, sending a wave of gratitude for the warm hand that fell on his shoulder.

The entire bridge was waiting for an answer, Spock's concern as warm in his mind as the hand on his shoulder.

"Not… exactly." Jim glanced to Spock and recived a pulse of something gently encouraging.

"You said 'they didn't make it out'," Uhura quoted, circling the bridge to stand with the pilot and navigator.

That hurt. Hurt a lot, actually, and Spock's hand tightened on his shoulder.

He took a moment to breathe, forced his fists to unclench. "I tried—" a shuddering breath, "—tried so _fucking_ hard to get the younger kids out—"

He could _see_ when it clicked, when his genius command crew realized what he was saying.

"—but Kodos' people were _everywhere_ and Sally went down before we even got to the trees and she was _nine,_ damn it!" And once he'd started he couldn't stop, listing names and deaths in sketchy words that did no justice to the reality of _genocide,_ of hunger and terror and the constant _need_ to care for those that still lived.

And he cut himself off, breathing hard, furious with himself and the Admiral who had forced this mission on them, only Spock's oddly comforting presence keeping him from falling apart completely.

Uhura was covering her mouth with one hand, eyes wide and horrified, Sulu standing stiff with hands clenched into fists, Checov looking somewhere between frightened and angry.

It was Sulu who broke the sudden, tense silence, his question not one that Jim had been expecting after his little outburst.

"Is—is any of that in your file?"

Jim blinked, casting back to the file of his he'd hacked once out of curiosity while he struggled to pull himself together. "That I was there. On the kill list. Pulled out of one of Kodos' dungeons after I got caught." He's left the file alone, for all he could have changed it, as that part had been heavily classified, impossible for anyone shy of Admiral to access without genius-level hacking skills. And he'd not been certain he could tamper without getting caught.

"It is classified," Spock stated, "although the Admirality would be able to access it."

Restrained anger turned to rage and Sulu snarled. "And they send _you?_"

"Bekett," Jim said after a moment. "And—he might not have looked."

Although a part of him hoped the man _had,_ that his own rage at the Admiral was justified.

"Even if he did not," Spock pointed out, voice more clipped than usual, "it would be considered negligent at the very least to send _you_ when such information is availible to him."

There was something in the bond that said Spock was angry with himself for not having thought of that sooner.

_Not your fault,_ Jim sent pointedly. _We've had other things on our minds._

Spock aknowledged the sentiment without actually agreeing to it.

Jim sighed, "Look, can we drop the whole 'blame the Admiral' thing for now? I don't know about the rest of you, but I have a few things I need to get done before Bones shows up to hypo me again."

His command crew exchanged glances and relented, but Jim had the distinct feeling that Bekett was going to be having a very rough time in the near future.

He couldn't bring himself to feel even remotely sorry for the man.

_xxxx_

"Well, this sucks."

That, Spock reflected, was a remarkably succinct method of summing up the situation at hand. He and Jim had been on the way to the transporter room to meet McCoy and beam down to the surface of Tarsus IV in order to meet the planet's representative—a stressful enough situation, considering the location—when a blue alert had been initiated.

Nevertheless, it had to be seen to, and the fact that it was a biohazard alert brought it directly under Spock's supervision. He hesitated.

Jim sighed, "Go on, I'll call Sulu."

Spock gave a curt nod and turned away, raising his communicator to demand specifics as to the nature of the emergency.

_xxxx_

"_Wonderful_ time for a lab accident," Bones sniped as he met up with Jim in the transporter room. "Just _perfect._"

Kirk paused, then smirked as a slightly harried Sulu showed up. "Why, Bones, it almost sounds as though you _wanted_ Spock to come!"

McCoy spluttered as Jim took his place on the transporter pad with Sulu following suit, then settled for huffing as he stepped onto the glowing pad himself.

Jim sent him a grin that seemed only slightly forced, then turned his attention to their Chief Engineer—who had insisted on being the one to work the controls. "Beam us down, Scotty."

And if there was a little too much tension in the Captain's voice, no one mentioned it.

_xxxx_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hi. *Waves sheepishly* Sorry about the long delay. I had to move to a new town for reasons I'd rather not disclose to cyberspace, and managed to locate a new job with the new apartment. Anyway, I'm significantly more busy than I was before, so my writing time has been hacked down to about a tenth of what it was, and I have to go down to a local gym or coffee shop for internet, so updates will likely be infrequent at best. I have not given up, though, and fully intend to finish this story. Please don't give up on me!_

_Oh, this chapter is unbeta'd. All mistakes are wholly my own._

Chapter 10

His thoughts and vision blurred—had he hit his head? It _felt_ like it, but at the same time, the pain was different than he would have expected, more like a pulling inside his skull than a concussion.

He was standing. If he'd hit his head, would he be standing? He wasn't sure, and tried to take a step only to stumble, and movement out of the corner of his eye resolved into a person, reaching to catch him, and he didn't have the presence of mind to attempt a dodge.

A hand closed over his wrist and suddenly his mind was crowded with a foreign, _painful_ presence, and he jerked away from the physical contact, stumbling to his hands and knees as someone shouted angrily.

He struggled to force his thoughts into some kind of order, a demand from the formerly shouting voice resolving his initial difficulty. _Jim. My name is Jim._

But aside from that, he couldn't make sense of his own mind, thoughts scattered, fragmented and hard to hold onto. There were echoes left over from the _other_ that had hit his mind so hard, and every time he'd _almost_ brought something back into order, a shard of _other_ would shatter it again.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at yellowish dirt, a thin crust shattering into fine dust underneath his clenching fingers. The shade was familiar in a distantly loathed way—something he did not like, something he's never wanted to see again—and that thought spiraled away as his chest constricted and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

Sharp, worried voices in the background barked demands, and he let himself tumble sideways, hands moving to clutch at his head, heedless of anything save the confusion and loneliness and hurt.

_Spock._

_xxxx_

Spock staggered, losing track of what he was hearing in the middle of getting reports from the scientists who had been in the compromised lab. Losing track of _everything_.

It took several seconds for him to force his mind into enough order to recognize the symptoms, and when he did his side tightened with dread. He ignored the concerned questions leveled his way and focused on his bond with Jim—it was _there_, Jim wasn't dead, but there was a distinct sense of strain and _too far_ that devolved into pain on Jim's end. Spock forced himself away from the wall he didn't remember falling against as his bondmate's faint plea flickered through his mind, distantly grateful none of the scientists had touched him.

"Sir?" one of the blue-shirted ensigns asked.

"Seal off the lab until I can return," he knew his voice showed his strain, but couldn't spare the focus to control it.

Almost on-cue, his comlink beeped, and Spock lifted it.

"Spock—"

The Vulcan cut the doctor off, "Get him back to the ship."

_xxxx_

Spock made it to the transporter room at nearly the same moment as his Captain, and the strain on their bond went from almost unbearable to frayed but stabilizing. As soon as that the _tearing_ feeling was out of the way, the second cause of Jim's terrible pain became clear.

Spock fell to one knee at his bondmate's side, strong fingers seeking psi-points, and he dropped fully into Jim's wounded mind.

The mental world he entered was far from the sunlit warmth it usually was—it was chaos, shards of thought and echoes of something grating and foreign, but the golden core that was _Jim_ was already herding bits of fragmented thought and memory into coherent patterns.

Spock moved to help, gathering up the remaining pieces of _other_ and walling them off, then aiding Jim's quest to fit memory back where it belonged before guiding his bondmate through the steps of a pain-relief technique to take the edge off the lingering migraine.

When he opened his eyes, weary blue fluttered up to meet his gaze briefly before wincing back shut.

Spock sat back slightly, shifting his hand from face to shoulder, then glanced at Sulu.

The pilot was haunted with worry and guilt—Spock recognized the emotions as having a matching 'signature' to the remnants left behind in Jim's mind. "He will be fine," the half-Vulcan informed. "However, it would be best if the Captain were allowed to rest for the remainder of the day. Lieutenant Sulu, if you would inform Ambassador Darnell of a minor accident that will result in a postponing of the meeting?"

Sulu nodded once, relief warring with lingering guilt, "Yes, sir."

As soon as the pilot was out of the room, Spock turned his attention to the doctor—who was in the process of running a medical tricorder over Jim's still-shaking form. "Doctor," he stated.

"Damn it, Spock!"

"I'll be ok," Jim's voice was strained and tired, and not enough to divert the doctor's attention.

"What the hell _was_ that?"

Spock hesitated, "I can only speculate," he warned after a moment. "I have never heard of a similar situation."

"So _speculate,_" Bones snarled, his distress echoing loudly in Spock's senses.

"When Jim transported down to the planet, it put… _strain_ on our bond, enough to nearly break it. Had you not gotten the Captain back to the ship so quickly… the effect on both of us would have been as though the other had died."

"Collapse," Bones remembered aloud. Spock's father had not been the only Vulcan brought to the enterprise to lose a bonded mate, though the Abassador's had been the mildest symptoms, as his bondmate had not been telepathic. "Followed by extreme distress, disorientation, and general weakness."

Spock pushed down the urge to sigh, carefully helping the only semi-aware Jim to sit, "We should discuss this later." He didn't add what would have the Doctor even more alarmed, though it would have to be said eventually—if mere _distance_ had caused that, what would actual _breaking_ do? What if one of them died? Losing a bondmate was always traumatic, but even the _thought_ of losing Jim was…

Spock forced the speculation aside, standing as smoothly as he could so as not to jar his pained bondmate, somehow convincing the doctor to allow him to take Jim to the Captain's quarters for peaceful sleep and managing to guide Jim all the way to his waiting bed.

Spock eased his bondmate down gently, helping him to lie and fully intending to retire to his own quarters, but the moment the thought crossed his mind, human fingers tightened on his wrist. Blue eyes flashed open to look at him, something almost like panic fluttering through the link between them.

_Please._

And the thought of leaving was not a pleasant one. It felt _wrong,_ in that moment.

Spock settled onto his bondmate's bed and closed his eyes, feeling human cool curl against his side—and, together, they slept.

_xxxx_


	11. Chapter 11

_All right, _finally_ got this finished. It was kind of like stealing meat from a _really big_ dog. The next chapter is sketchily planned out, but not written, much less fine-tuned. It may be a while._

_Chapter 11_

Spock woke to the unexpected presence of Dr. McCoy at the side of Jim's bed, tricorder out and running over him—Jim's presence was muted with exhausted sleep in the back of his mind. The man was immediately cataloged as 'friend' and Spock settled back against the pillow tiredly.

"Damn it, Spock," the Doctor sounded somewhere between annoyed and resigned, "You should have _told_ me."

"There is very little you could have done," Spock pointed out, shifting with the intent to sit, but Jim curled tighter against his side at the movement, settling his golden head against Spock's shoulder.

"Medical leave," McCoy closed his tricorder with a decisive snap. "You're off for a full shift rotation, Jim for two."

"I am… uncertain it would be wise to separate us," Spock admitted.

"Then you're _both_ off until you can handle being on opposite sides of the ship."

Spock didn't argue. In point of fact, he didn't _want_ to argue, though he was certain Jim would have a somewhat different opinion when he woke. For now, though, Spock was content to tuck his bondmate close to his side and close his own eyes.

A moment later, he heard McCoy's resigned huff and the doctor's footsteps retreated, the door sliding open, then closed. The privacy lock engaged, and Spock let himself slip back into a healing sleep.

_xxxx_

The next time Spock woke, it was because Jim sat up. He sat as well, regarding his bondmate with eyes and mind. "Good morning." It _was_ morning, if only technically, the clock's low blue light showing 0203.

"Mm," Jim rubbed a hand over his face, "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"How much do you remember?" Spock remembered the moments after he had recognized his symptoms with blinding clarity, but Jim had been mentally wounded while already terribly vulnerable.

"Not much," it was an admission. "Just confusion, mostly, and that it hurt a lot."

"Sulu touched you while you were experiencing the general symptoms of a broken mating bond. It caused far more damage than it would have had you been aware enough to defend your mind properly."

"_What?_" the exclamation was overlaid with a sense of shock.

_It is still here,_ Spock assured silently, _still stronger than a mate-bond. The distance strained it, badly—as though a bonded mate had died, yet I could still feel you._

"… Does distance _usually_ do that with a mate-bond?"

"No," Spock almost frowned, "but as I have stated previously, this is not a mate-bond. It is… _deeper_ than that."

Jim grimaced slightly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes, "All right, so no going off-ship without you. Or you without me. Got it. Hope the Admirals don't have a problem with that."

"We will deal with that problem if it arises," Spock informed.

"Mm," Jim's mind was slowly clouding again with weariness.

"Sleep."

"Don't want to," there was a reluctance edged with fear.

Spock shifted, gently forcing his bondmate to lie back and settling beside him, "Sleep," he repeated. "I will be here when you wake."

Reluctance faded with the quiet promise and Jim curled against Spock's side, draping an arm across a warm chest in an absently possessive gesture as he slipped back into sleep.

Spock found he didn't mind.

_xxxx_

The rest of that day was spent sleeping to take the edge off mental-shock-induced exhaustion. There were periodic interruptions by the good doctor, who ran scans and administered hypos that neither of the two bonded had enough energy to protest.

The next morning, though, both felt well enough to hazard moving around. As it turned out, being in adjacent rooms didn't bring any pain, though there was a background _awareness_ each had of the other's location. Neither was inclined to test the boundaries much further than that.

Spock re-entered the Captain's Quarters without asking, hair brushed and standard blacks impeccable, as usual, only to pause in mild amusement as his half-dressed bondmate struggled to get a single small mat out of his short hair.

After a moment of watching the awkward attempt, Spock stepped forward and relieved Jim of his brush, "Allow me."

Jim huffed and folded his arms, amused exasperation flickering through their bond as he let Spock gently work out the tangle on the back of his head. How it had gotten there, he had no clue—he very rarely got mats, thanks to short, shaggy locks.

After the combination of brush and Vulcan fingers moved smoothly through tangle-free hair, Jim twisted to offer a small grin, "Thanks."

Spock set the brush on his bondmate's dresser and passed over a black shirt, "You are welcome."

Jim tugged the shirt on, mussing once-smooth hair into something that more suited his usual look, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. "Ready to make an appearance?"

Spock inclined his head slightly, lips quirking in the faintest shadow of a smile.

_xxxx_

The 'making an appearance' made a marked improvement in crew morale—having both members of the Command Team on medical leave at the same time was not a common occurrence on any Federation Starship (though it might _become_ one on the _Enterprise_, from the way things were going). As usual, rumors had greatly exaggerated the state the two were in, so their showing up in the mess hall brought a great deal of relief.

The crewmembers in the mess politely gave the two some space as they got their meals, Jim absently gravitating towards a few of Spock's usual selections. They picked an unoccupied corner table and, once seated, were gently accosted by a few of the crewmembers.

Questions as to their health and what had happened were prevalent, and Spock silently informed his bondmate that he would take care of the questioners.

Jim flashed something between 'are you sure?' and gratitude.

_Eat,_ Spock prompted, then turned his attention to the small group of those brave enough to ask and the unabashed eavesdroppers.

_xxxx_

As soon as the two managed to eat and escape from the mess, they made their way to Sickbay, both knowing quite well what the ship's Chief Medical Officer would do if they didn't. Being stalked through the halls by an irate doctor would be a little awkward.

Rather predictably, said doctor was irritated that they hadn't come to him _before_ eating, but kept his complaints to grumbles that enhanced hearing caught easily—which both Jim and Spock were certain he was aware of.

Jim pointedly ignored a comment about 'idiot Captains' and suffered through a round of scans and hypos with significantly less protest than usual, feeling a little guilty for worrying his friend.

Spock felt no such guilt—he knew that there was no way they could have known what would happen when separated by a significant distance. His only possible cause for any kind of guilt was his omitting his own condition when the doctor was occupied with his bondmate. He did not, because he had been somehow aware that what they needed was rest above all else. Rest and contact, though the second had been a later revelation.

Still, Spock wasn't one to complain about hyposprays and medical scans, and he tolerated the doctor's attention stoically, pointedly ignoring mutters about 'damned psychic green-blooded hobgoblins'.

In the end, McCoy reluctantly proclaimed the two in perfect physical health before reiterating his intention to keep the two off-duty until they could be on opposite sides of the ship.

As expected, Jim immediately protested. "But Bones, we haven't _been_ on opposite sides of the ship since this whole thing happened!"

Spock paused, considering. That was true—the closest they had come to being on opposite sides of the ship had been when Jim had been in Sickbay while Spock checked the Botany Labs. And even that had felt—off. Jim had come looking for him.

And Spock, in return, had gone to find his bondmate only minutes after he had left.

Dr. McCoy also considered the declaration, frowning when he realized the truth of it.

Before he could suggest anything, however, Spock intervened. "It would not be… _wise_ to experiment at the present time."

McCoy looked like he was going to argue, but Jim spoke first, voice somewhat pained.

"Please, Bones, I want to get this mission over with. You can run all the tests you want afterwards."

The doctor grudgingly relented, "Fine. But you're still off-duty until tomorrow."

That was probably the best they were going to get. Jim and Spock exchanged a quick glance, then Spock turned his attention back to the doctor. "That is acceptable."

McCoy huffed, "Damn well better be."

The next day would be stressful, Spock was certain.

_xxxx_


	12. Chapter 12

_Short chapter—I know. But it's the quickest I could get something up—I lost everything with my computer's quiet death. I have a new one, now, and am trying to re-do my outlines and everything, but it'll take some time._

_**Chapter 12**_

Spock reflected silently that sometimes he… _disliked_ being correct. Jim had been understandably tense even before they beamed down to the planet's surface, but once they had actually materialized on the pale yellow landscape, he began to radiate an adrenaline-filled fight-or-flight sensation down the bond that was completely invisible in face and form.

Spock shifted slightly, bringing himself into touch-range of his bondmate.

Then tensed as the Ambassador stepped forward, away from the uniformed man and woman who accompanied him, with a hand outstretched for a handshake—a common enough gesture in most human colonies, but a mental brush like a hand on his shoulder had him remaining silent.

"We had a bit of an accident planetside on a recent mission," Jim's voice was light and easy, betraying none of his inner tension. "I'm a touch-telepath with no shields at the moment."

"Ah," the Ambassador dropped his hand with an understanding smile. "In that case, we will skip the handshake. I am Harold Darnell, the current Ambassador of Tarsus IV. These are my guards, Davis Leonis and Ali Harvard."

"Jim Kirk," Jim nodded once, then gestured lightly to Spock, "Spock, my bondmate and First Officer, and Leonard McCoy, ship's CMO."

Spock showed none of his mild surprise at being identified in such a manner, but a silent half-question, half-apology from Jim had him hastening to reassure. _I have no protests._ It was actually somewhat gratifying that Jim saw him as bondmate first.

The Ambassador was somewhat more visibly startled at the introduction, and the air tinged with mild confusion. "I'm sorry—what exactly _is_ a 'bondmate'?"

Spock took a step and rested his palm on his bondmate's bicep. _If I may?_

Assent brushed his mind and the half-Vulcan glanced to the Ambassador. "A bondmate is someone to whom a telepath is telepathically linked. Amongst Vulcans, the term is reserved for a life-partner, one with whom this link is stronger than with any others."

Jim nodded at the explanation, "Yeah. And it sorta negates the need for physical contact for the whole 'mind-reading' thing with Spock."

The Ambassador hesitated, understanding the words yet somehow even more puzzled. "You are… life-partners, then? Married?"

Jim gave a sharp grin, something in stance and too-light tone daring the man to make trouble. "Yeah."

Darnell raised his hands placatingly, "Please, don't misunderstand. I, ah, know a few of the Academy instructors. A friend of mine called to tell me it was the _Enterprise_ that was heading here, and regaled me with tales of your exploits at the Academy."

McCoy snorted in amusement, "Kid _was_ quite the womanizer, back in the day."

Jim gave a semi-sheepish smile, "Yeah, well, we can reminisce later. Meanwhile, we're already running two days behind, so if we could get this show on the road?"

Spock silently agreed. The hidden tension was growing with each passing moment, and the sooner they left this world of Jim's childhood nightmare, the better.

Darnell, oblivious to the reason but accepting nonetheless, smiled and nodded. "Of course."

_xxxx_

McCoy left them at the transporter room, grumbling about checkups and ensigns, and Spock quite calmly shifted to place himself between the Ambassador's small group and his bondmate, not wanting even an accidental touch to brush against Jim. _We must work on your shields,_ he informed.

_Yeah,_ Jim grimaced slightly in memory, _no kidding. Right now, though…_

Spock inclined his head._ We must give the Ambassador a tour of the ship._

_xxxx_

"Ugh," Jim flopped back onto his bed after the obligatory tour was over, grimacing.

Spock stepped closer to the bedside to look down at his bondmate, one eyebrow quirking upwards. "Ugh?"

Jim nodded, "Ugh."

Spock suddenly had the very human urge to smile, though he refrained. "What, precisely, does 'ugh' mean?"

"Ugh: a sound indicating dissatisfaction." Jim grinned up at the half-Vulcan, "Most of the time, anyway. Right now it means I'm tired and don't want to deal with diplomats or their bodyguards for at least eight hours. I want to _sleep._"

Spock made a contemplative sound, "I see. Is there any way for me to aid in facilitating that desire?"

"Stay?"

Spock dipped his head slightly, "Allow me to change."

Jim craned his neck to look down at the now-rumpled uniform he was wearing and made a face. "Good idea."

Spock's lips quirked upwards ever so slightly as he turned to head for his own quarters through the shared bathroom.

By the time Spock returned to the bathroom, Jim had changed into his own loose sleepwear and was brushing his teeth. He hummed acknowledgement of his bondmate's presence through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Spock paused. There hadn't been time earlier, but now… "Are you all right, Jim?"

A pause as toothpaste was spat into the sink and washed down the drain. _Been better._ The young Captain rinsed his mouth and straightened, turning to look at his bondmate.

Spock hesitated, unsure of what he wanted to ask, to offer.

He got a wan smile in response to the emotions he let leak along their bond. "I think I will be."

_xxxx_

The next morning came all too early—Spock actually felt some reluctance towards getting out of bed, finding himself oddly comfortable with his human bondmate tucked along his side. Not only that, but Jim's sleep had been untroubled for the first time in days. Just for that, it was sorely tempting to call Dr. McCoy and request leave for the day—but Jim would be upset if he actually did.

With a mental sigh, Spock shifted, gently waking his bondmate.

Jim hummed as he woke, shifting away slightly to stretch without whacking Spock. _Morning already?_

"Indeed."

Jim huffed, then rolled to sit, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. _I'm refusing to speak until I've had a cup of coffee,_ he informed Spock.

Spock let himself feel a tinge of amusement at the silent comment and stood, "Then I will change," he replied, deliberately aloud, "and accompany you to breakfast, if only to act as a translator."

Jim choked, _Was that a _joke?

Spock didn't reply, slipping through the shared bathroom to his quarters.

_It_ was! Jim's mental voice followed him, gleefully awed.

In the safety of his personal quarters, Spock allowed himself a small smile.


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry! This one was a little longer in the works than anticipated. Still, it's up now! I've got two other stories beginning, but I'm trying to work out the storylines before I start posting. Will probably save us all some time in the long run._

_**Chapter 13**_

The travel back to Starfleet Headquarters was fairly uneventful, barring Bones' tracking down his two main patients and locking them away in Sickbay for at least an hour each day, running test after test in an attempt to see what was going on with them.

Jim was going back and forth between annoyed and relieved—the time in Sickbay consisted of relative peace and time well away from Darnell and his bodyguards. However, it _also_ tended to involve at least one round of hyposprays. Spock was… Spock.

One day out from Earth, Bones growled and threw the latest datapad across his desk in disgust, the clatter drawing his patients' attention.

"What's up, Bones?"

"Damn it, the both of you!" Like every other test he had run, the results told him nothing he hadn't learned in the first few days.

And it was all too clear that any attempt to separate the two would be _devastating_ to both, at the very least. Maybe outright fatal.

The thought made him bite his lip, too anxious to quell the impulse. It was almost certain, from the way the two had reacted to simple separation, that a _breaking_ of their bond would be fatal to both.

And that—that was a thought he _hated,_ moreso because he couldn't _do_ anything about it. Despite every test he had run, he hadn't learned any medical way to deal with it. Everything he'd learned only reinforced his belief.

"Get out of here, both of you," McCoy snapped, covering upset with irritation. "I'll track you down later."

_xxxx_

"I think he's figured it out," Jim stated.

"I believe you are correct," Spock murmured, considering what he'd sensed from the doctor before being rather unceremoniously banished from Sickbay.

Neither of them had said anything aloud (or even silently) to each other, but both of them knew, and knew the other was aware as well.

"So," Jim glanced sideways at his bondmate, "We should probably talk about it sooner or later."

"Indeed."

"… what happens if one of us dies and the other _doesn't?_"

Spock hesitated, taken by surprise. "… I am uncertain. The possibility of that happening is… slim." Then again, if _anyone_ in their situation would have a chance at such a thing, they would. He hoped never to find out.

"You have a guess."

Not a question, and Spock reluctantly inclined his head. "Total catatonia, if we were fortunate."

Jim waited.

"The other possibilities are far less… _agreeable,_" and there was a sense of anticipated agony beyond words, of _alone_ and _shattered._

"Yeah, I could see that," Jim muttered, "We should probably give Bones a heads-up… just in case."

Just in case. Considering where they were headed towards Starfleet _from,_ Spock wasn't exactly surprised by the turn of morbid thought on his bondmate's part. He'd had too many close brushes with death there to forget, or even fall into complacency.

"Yes," he agreed quietly, "We should."

"Ah," the not-word was jovial and jarring against the mood reflected between bondmates. "Captain Kirk! First Officer Spock! You have escaped the good doctor's clutches for the morning?"

As one, they turned to face Ambassador Darnell and his two bodyguards, Spock's usual mask of Vulcan calm firmly in place while Jim managed a flawless smile, "Yeah, Bones got sick of us and kicked us out. We should be getting pretty close to Earth, if you'd like to come up to the bridge with us."

Spock sensed the irritation in Jim, though, and shifted to brush a hand along his bondmate's arm.

A flicker of gratitude reached him and irritation retreated slightly, though it was far from gone. Darnell's presence had a tendency to grate at Jim, the constant reminder of Tarsus and a nightmare in reality that there had been no escape from for so many under a thirteen-year-old's care.

"Thank you for the offer, Captain," Darnell smiled and shook his head, "but I'm afraid we have yet to have breakfast. If we could join you later…?"

Jim shrugged, the picture of easy-going calm. "Of course. You know your way to the mess?"

"Ah, yes. Go ahead and attend to your duties, Captain. I'm sure running a starship is no easy task."

"You'd be surprised. I've got a good crew." _A good crew with a vendetta against Admiral Bekett. Oh, _hell.

Spock suppressed the urge to smirk as Jim remembered just how angry his command crew had been on finding out that Bekett had sent him to Tarsus. He hadn't—yet—actively taken part in some of the schemes to make the Admiral's life miserable, but he'd overheard Checov, Nyota, and Sulu plotting on the bridge while Jim had been distracted by the doctor's hyposprays.

He had to admit, their idea had merit.

"That you do," Darnell smiled again, "Well, we'll be heading off to breakfast, then. I will see you on the bridge later."

"You're _enjoying_ this," Jim hissed as soon as the Ambassador was out of normal human earshot.

"I was considering aiding Sulu's plan," Spock admitted, face expressionless but bond humming with amusement.

Jim palmed his face, "Don't get into any trouble, _please._ And—hold it, how do you plan on doing that if you can't go more than half a ship-length from me? What are they _planning?_"

This time, Spock's lips quirked ever so slightly upwards.

_xxxx_

They got back to Earth just before shift change, Darnell (thankfully) sent planetside for the meeting he'd been called for.

Jim settled back in the command chair gratefully once the Ambassador was off ship, only to be interrupted by a hail from Starfleet.

"On screen," though his voice was even, Spock could sense reluctance in his bondmate.

"Jim, who the hell sent you to Tarsus?"

The entire bridge blinked in something very close to synchronicity. Admiral Pike did _not_ sound pleased, and hadn't even bothered with the usual pleasantries and teasing.

"It was Bekett, Admiral," Sulu volunteered before Jim could even open his mouth.

"Bekett?" Pike snorted, shaking his head, "I should have _known._ The man's—nevermind. I'll tell Archer."

"Is he going to be punished for this?" Checov asked eagerly.

"Doubtful," Pike's mouth twisted in anger, "He's got seniority over the both of us, but we can at least give him some trouble."

"Oh, we've got some ideas," Uhura smirked viciously.

Jim hid his face in his hands with a groan, completely missing Pike's interested look.

Spock didn't even try to hide his smug satisfaction. Even if he didn't get involved directly, Pike was likely to and the vengeance in planning was becoming _very_ possible.

"Anyway," Pike stated, voice firm despite the glitter of amused pride in his eyes, "I've already arranged Darnell's transport back, so you won't have to worry about that. Enterprise is being ordered to dock for a week—see to it that everyone gets a few days' leave."

Jim looked up, relieved. "Sure thing, sir."


	14. Chapter 14

_Hey, fairly quick update. Anywho… here we are with Chapter 14. _

_**Chapter 14**_

Setting up shore leave was not as difficult as it could have been. Spock was an amazing help, with his eye for detail and quick efficiency. Add that to _both_ of their near-perfect memories, and arranging shore leave for everyone on the ship at alternating times for a skeleton crew took less than three hours.

Partially due to Spock's prompting, the better part of the Command Crew (minus Spock and Jim) had shore leave at the same time, despite the Captain's misgivings.

"This is gonna be bad, isn't it?" Jim groaned as Sulu and Checov exchanged high-fives and devious grins with Uhura and a recently-recruited Scotty.

Spock slipped over to exchange a few words with the group.

Jim groaned again, palming his face in exasperation, before calling over, "Spock, don't encourage them."

"Of course not, Captain," Spock replied calmly, the subtle tremor of amusement along their bond belying the denial.

But then, Vulcans didn't lie—directly, anyway—so… "Don't give them advice, either."

Spock inclined his head slightly without actually replying, indicating that he'd already finished doing just that, and returned to his station.

Jim only just refrained from hiding his face in his hands, not even _wanting_ to know.

_xxxx_

Spock was _displeased._ It was something worth noting that he was willing to admit that fact. Shore leave had not yet begun for himself and his bondmate, but they had been requested for a face-to-face meeting with Admiral Archer and had beamed down to the Academy grounds accordingly.

Bekett had apparently found out about the rendezvous, and had intercepted the two crossing the courtyard. His anger crackled through the air, and Spock wondered if the planned revenge had already been put into motion.

"Kirk! I will not have the two senior officers on our flagship _fraternizing_ in this fashion!"

Perhaps not.

Jim's disgust and irritation flashed briefly along their link, quickly subdued with a Vulcan meditave technique that the human was oddly adept at. "Admiral," Jim stated, calm and polite, "we have a meeting with Admiral Archer in less than ten minutes. While I would be happy to discuss this with you later, this is not the time or the place."

Bekett snarled wordlessly, reaching out to grab Jim's arm.

Spock intervened, catching the offending wrist in a grip as unyielding as titanium. "You will not touch him," he stated quietly. "You have been informed of my Captain's touch-telepathy and should be aware that any contact would qualify as assault."

"I'll have you court-martialed for this!" Bekett hissed.

_Spock._

Spock ignored the silent half-plea, half-reprimand. He _would_ defend his bondmate. His grip tightened just enough to let Bekett know he was serious, "You will leave. We will speak with you later, with appropriate mediators."

Bekett's emotions on the air were fear-touched rage, potent but hardly dissuading against Spock's own seething fury. "You'll regret this, Vulcan."

Spock released the man's wrist, but did not step back. "I doubt that, Admiral."

Spock would never regret defending Jim.

_xxxx_

Jim Kirk was _not_ having a good day. Oh, it had started out well enough—a meeting with Admiral Archer wasn't something he dreaded, as he actually liked the man.

It was Bekett's appearance that had brought about a sense of irritation and disgust. The emotions were easy enough to put aside with some help from one of Spock's techniques, but things had only gone downhill from there.

Although he was grateful that Spock wanted to defend him (he could recognize defensive rage from other kinds of rage) he _really_ didn't want his bondmate/First Officer in trouble for that.

Although he was willing to bet that Spock wouldn't regret interfering, regardless of the punishments that Bekett could come up with, so long as one of the punishments didn't try to enforce separation.

Bones could override that medically, though, so… no, Spock wasn't going to regret it. Save maybe that he hadn't ripped the jerk of an Admiral's arm off. Which, by the way, Spock would have no trouble doing, as he was fivetimesstronger than the average human. Jim was pretty sure even he or the average Vulcan could pull it off pretty easily with proper motivation.

_Jim_ might regret it on Spock's behalf, though. The idea of Spock getting into trouble for him _bothered_ him, even more than the idea of the rest of his command crew getting into trouble.

Although, come to think, Bones wasn't in on the whole 'revenge' kick, as he had other things on his mind.

Still… they were late.

When serious, Jim was _never_ late, and he doubted Spock had been late for anything in his life.

_xxxx_

Archer glanced up as the two he was waiting for arrived, almost three minutes late. He knew why, of course—his office overlooked the courtyard, and he'd taken the time to glance outside just as Bekett had intercepted Captain and Commander.

"Sorry we're late, sir," Jim's comment was the only explanation offered.

Which was to say, not an explanation at all. "I saw what happened down there. What did Bekett say?"

That prompted a proper recounting, and Archer's lips tightened before he nodded slightly. "Attempted assault is no small matter, regardless of the ranks of the individuals involved. Spock acted in defense of his commanding officer—reason enough to avoid a court-martial. Please wait outside while I make a few calls, and then we'll get down to why you're here."

_xxxx_

Spock didn't miss the relief to wash along the bond when Archer had stated that the half-Vulcan would not be court-martialed. He suppressed the urge to frown and, as soon as they were in the outer office, he turned his attention fully to Jim. _I did not mean to upset you._

Jim flashed a wry smile, _Wasn't you. Bekett doesn't seem too… rational, right now. I was afraid he was going to get you into some serious trouble. I'm sorry you had to get involved at all—he's got a _reputation_ for disliking nonhumans. I should have been paying more attention—I could have dodged that grab._

_You are still unaccustomed to the need._

Jim grimaced acknowledgement of the point. _Still. Wonder what this is all about._

Subject change, but relevant. _I am unsure. My only hypothesizes are that it has to do with the mission we recently completed, our bonding, or both._

Jim grinned. _You just admitted to guessing!_

He had, with the intent of getting the very expression now directed his way. Spock lips didn't twitch—but he knew Jim felt the smile.

_xxxx_


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry about the long delay—I'm a busy girl, these days. This chapter's a little short, but it seemed like a good place to stop. The next one is already in the works, though that doesn't mean much. I've been trying to alternate which story I'm updating, so the next chapter posted will _probably_ be for my Bleach fic._

_**Chapter 15**_

Archer's expression was serious, but not unkind as he looked across his desk at the Command Team of the Federation flagship.

Spock returned the look with Vulcan indifference, while Jim was slightly more apprehensive. After their earlier encounter with Bekett, the young Captain was understandably on edge, though not with Archer. More with the situation, if Spock was reading the tangle of emotions correctly.

"Bekett is going to try to cause you trouble," Archer stated after a few moments of silence. "I know his reputation around the Academy campus—it's understandable, but incorrect. He's fairly neutral towards most nonhumans… provided they have no telepathic or empathic abilities. He has a profound distrust for anything capable of 'getting in his head'. Unfortunately, that now includes both halves of the Command Team of our flagship."

Spock remained silent, contemplating. He didn't know enough of Admiral Bekett to come to any conclusions without further information.

Jim, on the other hand… "So, what? He takes it as a personal insult?"

"Close enough," Archer observed dryly. "He's not known for being too tolerant of same-sex relationships, either, but on Earth that's still a debated thing. He's trying to get the two of you removed from the _Enterprise._ So far, he's only gotten laughter for the attempt, but he's got a few small 'special ops' groups under his command that are almost fanatically loyal. I want you to be careful. They might decide to do something even against standing orders from the general Admiralty not to."

Jim grimaced, and Spock was tempted to mirror the expression. He settled for quirking an eyebrow, "I do not believe this was the initial reason for our being called here."

"It wasn't," Archer grinned suddenly, pushing an envelope across the desk, "On a lighter note, congratulations on your marriage. You two have numerous acquaintances wondering why the first they heard of this was after the fact—not to mention the press."

Jim groaned, "_Please_ tell me you're kidding. The _press?_"

Archer gave an unrepentant shrug, "It's not like you kept it a secret."

Spock picked up the envelope, addressed to both himself and Jim, and, after glancing to Archer for tacit permission, broke the seal.

A PADD and several datachips slid onto the desk, along with a note on actual paper.

A glance at the note told him it would be better to wait on the datapad. He slipped the chips back in the envelope so as not to lose them, effectively sealing it with a deft double-fold. "Thank you."

"That aside… anything we should know that wasn't in the reports?"

Jim winced, glancing sideways at Spock.

Spock met the gaze evenly. _Though I would have preferred to speak with the doctor first, I believe our situation merits the Admiral's concern._

_Well, let's see what he says._ "Yes, but it hasn't been in the reports because we haven't actually had the chance to discuss it with Bones, yet. Would you mind waiting?"

"Something aside from your apparent distance restrictions and inability to handle physical contact?" Archer was actually mildly surprised.

"Uh, yeah."

The Admiral considered for several moments before nodding once, "If you'd rather discuss it with your doctor before anything else, that's understandable. I'd rather that was within the next few days, though."

Jim flashed a grin, more subdued than usual, "Thanks, Admiral. And… what do we do about Bekett?"

"For now, stay away from him. If he's willing to attempt assault… well, I've talked to several of the others about his behavior. He's going to be ordered to a councilor, and there's a possibility you two will be called in on a session to attempt to settle your differences. Otherwise, we might have to simply get a restraining order against him—although if that happens, he may be demoted. That should be enough incentive for him to back off."

"And if it is not?" Spock pressed.

"If it's not, there's going to be trouble. The kind that ends in penitentiaries."

Good enough, for now. Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Archer glanced at the clock above the door, "Anyway, I have another appointment coming up, so I'm going to have to kick you two out. Be careful of the press—they may have heard you're here."

"Lovely," Jim muttered, standing, "Anyway, thanks for the warning. We'll be careful."

It was quite clear he didn't mean the warning about the press with that last.

_xxxx_

The press, it turned out, was easily evaded. Jim know of several side entrances, the first of which provided a press-free escape. They beamed directly back to the _Enterprise_ from the side yard, thereby avoiding any encounters with reporters.

Once back aboard their ship, Spock glanced to his bondmate. _Should we find the doctor?_

Jim grimaced, _Yeah, probably. Gahh—that's a conversation I'm _not_ looking forward to._

Spock made a soft sound of agreement, _Still. He must be told._

_Yeah,_ Jim tilted his head, _You realize this will give Bekett more ammo, right?_

_Unfortunately,_ Spock acknowledged. _However, if the previous information was not enough to have us removed from command, it is unlikely that this will change that._

_There is that,_ Jim agreed. Suddenly he chuckled, "You realize we held that entire conversation in our heads without anyone else around?"

Spock's eyes softened as he returned the comment with a slight dip of his head, his gaze on Jim's amused expression. It was good to hear Jim laugh.


End file.
